Post what?

The extent of inhumanity that seems to supersede our “civilization” is amazing. We do not know how to treat humans as humans. We do not know how to be true to ourselves and the people around us. We do not know how to love. We lack knowledge. Yes, we are the post enlightenment, post modernism era and we lack knowledge, about who we are and what we are meant to do. The world is lost in the whirlpool of identity politics, fighting for difference, not diversity. Diversity can be celebrated. Difference cannot be. We try to identify ourselves as Hindu, Muslim, Post Modern, Woman, Man, Modernist, Liberalist, Congressmen, Left Wing, Terrorist, Pacifist and so on. These identities define only the kind of tribal marks that we choose to place on ourselves, because these identities are essentially cultural as opposed to being natural. They are identities which have been constructed after centuries of careful assimilation. Why do we hold onto these identities, and cling to them like refugees at a concentration camp? Why cannot we understand, now, more than ever, to come closer as a people and a species, (not as a race?)

The planet could not be in a worse situation. Global warming is changing the very meaning of what the Earth is. We have probably forgotten that we can survive at specific conditions, only on land. The only place, as far as we know, now, that we can live on, is this planet. If this is not foolishness, what is? At the time of such crisis, if we don’t come together as a people, how can we survive and make this world a happier place?

Technology has disabled us in great many ways. We now need to be trained in the art of everything, beginning from managing time to our own emotions. The only thing we are presumable good at is the art of sitting in front of a computer and staring blankly at the screen. I read an email today, which placed a poem horizontally so people could turn their head and get some exercise. We now need poems to exercise. Is this what the enlightenment has brought us? I am still surprised that the entire world actually “bought” the idea that the only “civilized” place in the world a few hundred years ago was Europe. How could so many people, with so much knowledge, be it spirituality, politics, mathematics and so much centre, deny themselves the confidence that they were brilliant communities? I am still looking for an answer as to how this construction was bought so easily, and by so many people. The only reasonable answer I can justify this with is that the Europeans did damn good PR (!!) when they colonised. However, I am not trying to re-establish the grand Indian narrative of the historically rich India with its Mughals, Sanskrit, Spirituality, religion, snake charmers, and elephants. I am only saying that it seems impossible that so many civilizations across the world could not have been “enlightened.” Perhaps this is a different kind of enlightenment. Perhaps it is an entertaining kind of enlightenment- an enlightenment that can bring comfort and convenience to people. If so, it has done it at the cost of too many things. We are at a stage in our lifestyles where we cannot go back and live life the way we used to; where we have given control (as Neo realises in the Matrix) to something other than our own species- Technology, and computers to be more specific. The human baby is the only one that cannot survive on its own. I have lived almost two decades on this planet, and I want to say, enough! Enough violence have I seen through the media, that bombards me with constant information about communal violence, and nuclear war.

[These points have been made before, at various occasions, in different ways. The ideas mentioned here are not new, or innovative, but observations that several people from the field of cultural studies have already made before. I only wished to revisit these arguments to further my argument.] So, this is what technology has brought us. The only problem is that we turn a blind eye to it. This is not entirely our fault. Our thinking capacities are not necessarily equipped to find easy solutions to dissolve these problems. But there is a way.

Love.

(The Art of Living way)

Love is the way. Because all everyone wants is love. If everyone is loved, everyone is happy. Then, there can be no clash. No violence. I dream of such a world. Some say it is foolish, and do not believe. But I urge you, believe. Believe that the world can be a better

place and it can be.

The Art of Living helps you to believe. It makes you part of a larger community which also believes.

A few months ago, I might have said this with a slight fear of becoming another identity oriented politician. Today, I wear this tag with pride, because it is not a tag. There is no “other” to define this identity. It is holistic, and entirely inclusive. I have heard many times that every place has its own inadequacies. And every time I experiment with the Art of Living, I have understood that it is not the organisation, but the knowledge that makes the place what it is. I have heard that it is a cult, a community, and many other things that I do not wish here to argue. But every time I have been there, I have felt happy, peaceful and content. I can give you in writing that any individual who has done the Art of Living Workshops will not harm himself or others under any circumstances. Can any NGO, government, or community give me this guarantee? Is not that a certification of sorts that all people working in all organisations must have? More necessary than all the ISO 9001 and CMMI Level 5 certifications that we have in its place.

Thorns and their awareness

Like a thousand needles pricking, the wounds come back

As unhealed as yesterday

Or yesteryear

The mistakes continue

Unrelenting

and Successful

In capturing mind, heart and body

Into a single entity

Destined to be hurt

By the cringing of faces

And ignorance of people who do not understand love

So One is suspended

In mid air

Empty

Yet so full

Of noises and deep cut wounds

That embrace the soul

And stay there

Forever.

Madness, and some home

Life is so wierd. It manages to consist of everything. The trees, around the house, which smell so nice. The deranged madness of watching movies among a crowded audience and still believing that we have something different in us than the rest; the idea that when love happens to you, it can happen like it happens to no one else; the thought of losing one's identity in a street full of people who are doing exactly the same thing; working, and travelling home in the dust and the soot of traffic; each waiting more listlessly than the next man for his light to turn green because his world is greater, and his need to get where he must is greater; the living essence of each person, lost in the need to be loved, yet living in denial of the fact that one needs to be loved, and that that is all one lives for.

Yet, there are some places in this universe, which exhibit so much energy, and love, that you can not but live in love, and that longing to be one with that peace. All denial is sucked out of you, because you are showered and bestowed with so much love, that you feel like you need little else.

My lovely Ashram is one such place. Every place, every brick and marble is so welcoming that you feel its home. It cant but be anything else. There is a stillness in the energy that consumes you and fills you, and by the end of the visit, you will leave happier and lighter than when you walked in. They say that one can either feel pain or fear or guilt at one point, if they do not feel love. Here, it all drains away. One is reduced, or rather transformed into a being of love, free of hangovers and obligations, where the identity of the self becomes larger than the identity of where one comes from or what one does. Yet, it does not make the place less interesting. It does not reduce the dullness of life, or make everyone similar. It enhances the idea that similarities always exist, and yet, we learn to identify ourselves by that similarity.

Its a beautiful place, my home. To feel such peace, one must be lucky, not only eligible:-)

Moments, momentary goodbyes

A strange peace clung to me as I walked back home that night. In spite of all the disappointments that seemed to seep through, a strange sense of contentment was overwhelming me as I walked through the dark streets to reach home. A contentment that seemed to define that all was said and done; that an acceptance of some kind had been reached. Suddenly, I was stopped by the softness of the trees and the lightness of my footsteps, and the darkness hung down from the unlit streetlights. I suddenly knew how much I loved this place, and how much I would miss this place; my home.

They had all let go; what we shared was not so important to them anymore; they had "moved on." How had it happened? I do not have answers. I am still looking for them. I can never move on. I do not want to. Every relationship, every moment of every second spent with special people has been so special for me. How can people let go? This is a truth I can never fathom; I do not want to explore the extent of indifference that people can experience.

Perhaps the peace came with the knowledge that it was over. From my end. That this was the end. Or perhaps the beginning of a new time. A new place and new friends. New relationships. Where they would emerge from, I had no significant idea of. I only knew that one was over, and there was no choice for me but to move on. Its easier to let go than hold on, and cling to, and wait. Yet, with some people I have amazing patience. I can hold on, forever. I can wait. Maybe because I think they are worth it. Maybe they're not. Maybe that's why its so easy, to be peaceful, now, that it is over.

So, here's some moments from happy times!

Moments that I've let go and don't wish to recreate cause they cant be, (even though they're worth it)...